


The Past is a Groteque Animal

by Killinger



Category: American Gods (TV), American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Genre: Angst, F/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, mad wife, madwife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killinger/pseuds/Killinger
Summary: The engine of the battered ice cream truck sputtered and coughed as Laura pushed the peddle down willing it to climb the steep grade up over yet another Appalachian mountain.  It had been a few hours since their epic Kentucky fuck up that left her both husband and lifeless,  more or less.  Mad Sweeney sat bundled in his sleeping bag.  He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of their journey,  either asleep or pretending to be.  Their destination was House on the Rock Wisconsin.Laura worried at the edge of a fingernail, a bad habit from her living days.  This time her whole nail bed fell off.  She heard a gag from the passenger seat.  "Jesus Christ, Dead Wife,  if you keep gnawing at your finger like that the whole fucking things going to drop off.“   Laura pursed her dry lips,  eyes narrowing,  but still concentrating on the road.





	The Past is a Groteque Animal

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: I’ve had this idea knocking around in my brain for many months now. I just really like the idea of exploring Sweeney’s past and other gods who have fucked with him. So if you’re into future angst please keep reading! This story is written in a non-linear format. I didn’t start out writing it that way, it just came out like that. I apologize for any errors I’ve read this thing so many times I can’t see the words anymore. Comments, suggestions, critique is always appreciated!

The engine of the battered ice cream truck sputtered and coughed as Laura pushed the peddle down willing it to climb the steep grade up over yet another Appalachian mountain.  It had been a few hours since their epic Kentucky fuck up that left her both husband and lifeless,  more or less.  Mad Sweeney sat bundled in his sleeping bag.  He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of their journey,  either asleep or pretending to be.  Their destination was House on the Rock Wisconsin. 

Laura worried at the edge of a fingernail, a bad habit from her living days.  This time her whole nail bed fell off.  She heard a gag from the passenger seat.  "Jesus Christ, Dead Wife,  if you keep gnawing at your finger like that the whole fucking things going to drop off.“   Laura pursed her dry lips,  eyes narrowing,  but still concentrating on the road.  

” So who’s in Wisconsin?  If Ostera couldn’t help me because I was killed by a God then aren’t I fucked?“  Mad Sweeney sighed pulling the sleeping bag a little tighter.  ” There are a whole mess of things that deal in the bringing of life and death.  Ostera was just one of the more pleasant to deal with.“   Laura shifted in her seat leaning into the sharp turn.  ” Lay off the fucking gas or you’re going to drive us right off the side of this fucking mountain.“ he spat. Ignoring him Laura continued her questioning  ” Yea,  but who exactly are we going to see,  cause I  don’t want to be walking in blind here.“ Sweeney groaned frustrated by her insistence .  ” You’re gonna have to trust me here… It’s… It’s fucking complicated ok?“  

  
” How fucking complicated can it be?  This person,  God,  thing,  whatever, can either help me or not.“ Laura retorted side eyeing him.   “Actually Dead Wife,  it’s pretty fucking complicated.  We’re walking into possibly thee most important fucking thing that’s happened in this country’s short life span and I was not exaggerating when I  said a whole MURDER OF GODS will be there. A whole murder of selfish, self-centered cunts all trying to out do each other.”  With a groan Sweeney hung his head in his hands. “The fucking pricks.” He muttered under his breath.  
“ And we’re to ask  a personal favor from one of the most bitter cunty cunts of them all.” 

He sighed cocking his head and giving Laura a condescending tight lipped smile. “How the fuck do you think this is gonna work out, hmmm?” His gaze shifted unfocused out the window. “The price will be very fucking dear,  I’ll tell you that much.” he muttered gravely.

Laura huffed.  She was willing to do whatever it took to reunite her and Shadow.  Her determination was singular which Sweeney both admired and was irritated by.  He had pissed off Grimnir showing up in Kentucky with the Dead Wife and he knew he would make him suffer for it.  But Mad Sweeney didn’t want to dwell on that.  That was a fuck up to be paid back later, possibly never if he got his coin back.  Now, he had to figure out how best to approach this new problem. 

"I’m just saying,”  Laura continued “ that if you gave me a little information,  maybe I could be more prepared when I meet this being to plead my case or pay the price.”  ” You won’t have anything she’ll want.“ he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then what will she want?” Laura asked cautiously.  Sweeney sighed shaking his head.

“What do God’s usually want?  A tribute in blood.”

* * *

Mr.  Nancy stood watching the line of cars, motorcycles, buses, even a horse drawn carriage or two  snake up the road towards the House on The Rock.  A meeting like this was unprecedented in his entire long existence. All manner of Gods and deities would be in attendance and it excited him to his core. He had tailored himself a new suit for the occasion, vivid peacock blue paisley with golds, emerald greens and deep amethyst purples.

He had been ordered to wait for one in particular, a wild card in this possible war.  He pulled a pair of gold opera glasses scanning the horizon. From far off he spotted the helicopter. It landed in the grass just outside the grounds.  A petite Hispanic woman gingerly emerged. Her raven’s wing black hair was cut in a severe bob brushing just the edge of her jawline, she was wearing oversized mirrored sunglasses which hid her nearly black eyes giving her a thin veneer of normalcy to mask the brutality that coiled within her skin.

She held out her arms and walked towards Nancy  "Oh Anansi!“ She exclaimed in slightly accented English,  ” How long has it been?“

"Girl, not, long enough”  he said giving her air kisses as they embraced. She wagged a manicured finger at him.  "Oh,  don’t tell me you’re still angry about New York?“ She threaded her arm through his and they began to make their up to the house. 

"You very nearly got me killed”  he grumbled. She tutted at him “Oh please, no one could possibly kill you,  you’re Anansi,  King of Spiders or… something?“ She waved her hand dismissively as he gave her a side eye. “ If you remember correctly it was your old friend who started it.” Mr. Nancy tutted at her comment.   “Besides, you have hundreds of black history professors a crossed the country singing your praises.” Her red lips curled in a mirthless smile. “ You’re safe…for now.”  

Mr. Nancy chuckled at the jab, “Oh look at you miss thing,  you get a few dope peddlers on the border praying to your ass to help push their poison and suddenly you’re ‘Miss Big Shit. ” 

"Oh darling,” she squeezed his arm, “Don’t be jealous.  It doesn’t suit you.  You know my re-branding has worked wonders.  I don’t understand why you and Wednesday are so resistant to change.  I get prayers,  they ask me for blessings and I answer them,  simple as that.”   She snapped her fingers.

Mr. Nancy scoffed.  ” Re-branded? That’s just some more white techno bullshit.  From what I see is that they took a fierce fuckin’ goddess, a dealer of death,  and sanitized her.  White washed her power with the oppressors Catholicism and made you a Virgin Mary knock off with some skull paint,” Mr. Nancy stopped regarding her figure with a long gaze up and down, “ And honey, we both know that virgin is not a word that should be associated with you whatsoever.“  

The woman’s obsidian eyes hardened as her grin grew wider, nails shiny as a black widows body clutching tightly into his arm. She stood on her tiptoes, whispering into his ear, ” Every gram is a prayer,  every headless corpse a offering.” She canted her head with a smile “ I don’t see anyone offering anything to you.

Mr. Nancy chuckled, he knew he struck a nerve. “Does a few hundred Narco traffickers cut it?  What happened to the woman who stood atop a pile of thousands of skulls and demanded more for her kingdom?  Oh and those mother fuckers listened.  By the thousands they listened and then they would sacrifice themselves when there was nobody else.  You’re going to tell me you’re satisfied with a couple pits filled with a few hundred bodies?  I think not Mictēcacihuātl,  or do you prefer your slave name,  Santa Muerte? ”

 

* * *

  
“ You’re taking me to see the Grim Reaper? ” Laura asked half bemused. Sweeney scoffed. “The Grim… fucking…no,  not that asshole.  He couldn’t resurrect his cock to fuck himself. I’m talking about someone who doesn’t give two shits about Grimnir…” Sweeney trailed off in thought. Laura could tell by the expression on his face he was worried, though he’d never admit it. “What’s her name” she asked softly.

“Mictēcacihuātl.“ He said with a sigh."Mic… te..kaki…”  Laura tried to pronounce the unfamiliar name but was interrupted by Sweeney.  "Nope,  don’t even try,  you’re just gonna piss her off.“  “I can’t even try to say her name?” Laura looked at him confused.

“No you fuckin can’t. How do you think these gods know things? Whispers on the fucking wind bringing them murmurs from mortals. They can hear them or one of their fucking familiars will. Especially their old names.  Just say Santa Muerte.  It’s the new name and not as powerful as the old.”  Sweeney thought for a moment “ Actually, don’t even say that, I don’t want her knowing about this before we even see her. Just call her Mika, but not to her face. You say nothing to her, got that!” Sweeney shook a large index finger at Laura who just rolled her eyes jamming the gas peddle down. 

"So, how do you even know Santa…er Mika? ” she asked shaking her head. It all was starting to feel overwhelming. A delayed shock, everything being real, gods existing, walking among them with fantastic and terrifying power, snatching spring before her very eyes. 

Sweeney shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact. “We have… had a thing.”   Laura’s head snapped around to look at him causing the van to swerve off the road slightly. Sweeny reached over,  swearing in Gaelic, correcting the vans course.  ” Eyes on the road you fuckin eejit.“  Laura continued to gape at him ” Wait, so you’re telling me you somehow fell dick first into Death?”  She began to laugh hysterically. If anyone was going to do something so asinine it would be him. “ God, you really are fucking stupid.” she said shaking her head.  “When the hell was this?“  

Sweeney look away slightly sheepish. He suddenly had become very interested in a loose thread on the sleeve. “ I don’t know,”  he mumbled plucking at the thread. He fidgeted uncomfortable as Laura’s gaze bored into him from the driver’s seat. “It was 80s for fucks sake.” he exasperatedly snapped.  Laura sat back in thought for a moment.  ” Wait…what century? 1880s? 1980s?“ 

” Both.“ He said with a shrug.  

* * *

**Somewhere in Texas  1884**

Sweeney had been walking alone in the desert for what seemed like days.  The miners he had been traveling with had abandoned him long ago.  Too much trouble even if he did always seem to have money for whiskey and women.   They’d waited until he drank himself into a stupor, took his clothing, shoes and pushed his sorry ass out of a wagon in the middle of the night.  He awoke to buzzards circling.

“Fuuuuuuuck” He groaned slowly raising his arm to shield his eyes from the brutal summer sun.  His skin had already turned crimson,  his lips beginning to crack.  To top it off was the massive headache pounding out a steady rhythm in his skull.  With a herculean effort he forced his large frame to his feet and began gingerly walking in what he hoped was the direction of the last shitty mining town.  Cursing his poor luck he checked to make sure his special coin was still in his possession. Seeing that it was he wondered who or what he might have pissed off to place him in this predicament.  His coin was powerful,  but not all powerful.  

He came a crossed an outcropping of rock and took shelter from the scorching sun, gingerly sitting down on his burnt ass.  A scorpion scuttled up the rock in front of him.  ” Get ta fuck"  he spat as he half-heartedly struck at it with a piece of wood he was using for a walking stick.  It was late afternoon, the desert terrain was shifting colors, burnt umber,  dark purples, it looked painted and unreal. 

Even though the sun hadn’t set completely the moon sat low on the horizon. A harvest moon, like a red jewel in the sky.  It seemed so close, as if he could just reach out and pluck it from the air like one of his gold coins.  A fat rattle snake slowly slithered in Sweeney’s direction, interrupting his reverie causing him to jump to his blistered feet.  " NO,  FUCK NO"  he yelled in it’s direction.  “ This can not be the end!? I refuse to die in fucking Texas!!” He screamed impotently toward the moon.

  
Adrenaline in his veins, he struck out again.  He was severely dehydrated and having hallucinations about his time as a bird.  Naked,  restless. always moving.  He thought he was miserable then,  the freezing damp of Ireland seeping into his bones.  The night of Texas was the flip side to that misery.  The oppressive heat being released by the earth determined to dry every bit of moisture,  leaving him a husk.  

He wandered for hours,  the sun had long since set.  He felt the eyes of the night creatures on him.  The moon seemed to keep them at bay.  Another night of this and he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky.  Jaws snapping,  tearing flesh,  breaking bone.  He shuddered.  

Stopping to survey his surroundings he saw what he thought was a beam of light in the distance.  “Maybe a homesteader?” He didn’t give it much thought as he hobbled as fast as his burnt body could towards it.  A one room cabin came into view,  a candle sitting in the window.  Sweeney was desperate,  he knew that folks around here were a trigger happy lot, but he bet on his natural charm to win whoever it was over.  He had to.  He gingerly stepped onto the porch which gave off a loud creak.  He stopped to listen.   He hear hard sole shoes padding the floorboards inside.

He cleared his parched throat and called out to the person on the other side of the door.  "Hello?“ He rasped  ” I mean you no harm. I was separated from my wagon train,  there was an ambush by the natives…” He stopped for a second listening, his tongue darting out across his dry cracked lips. “I barely made it out alive!“  he lied smoothly.  "Please,  could you help me?  I’m burnt and haven’t had water in days.”   Sweeney was answered with silence.  He took a step towards the pine slat door trying to see in through the gaps. It seemed empty except for the candle dimly illuminating the interior. 

“Please.” He begged resting his head on the frame.  His strength giving out.  "I’ll give you gold,  I’ll give you whatever you want,  just… please.“  he whispered,  praying that whoever was on the other side had a shred of compassion.  Suddenly light filled his vision and cold steel jutted into his chest.  It took a moment for Sweeney to refocus.  A small woman stood before him.  Dark skin,  long wild black hair falling around her shoulders.  She was wearing a white linen tunic top and a long red skirt.  A belt of bullets crisscrossed her torso.  Her eyes almost black boring holes into his green ones.  She pressed the shotgun into his chest saying something in a language he had never heard before.  His vision began to swim and he collapsed into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr https://flowercrystals.tumblr.com/


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